


The Devil's Orchestra

by psychicdreams



Series: Embodiment Series [4]
Category: No Fandom, xxxHoLic
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychicdreams/pseuds/psychicdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everyone wants to go to heaven when it's too late." -- From Djevelens Orkester, by Kaizers Orchestra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Orchestra

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Don't Leave Me Heartless
> 
> I based Lucifer's clothing very heavily off a Lineage II robe I saw. I've never played the game, but it just fit Lucifer in my head. Basically, take the coloring I described here and apply it to the style and design of [THIS](http://i63.photobucket.com/albums/h124/psychicdreams/darkelf_male_a_robe_majestic.png) and you have it. Except for the cloak, he has a black fancy cloak too. His armor he keeps in a closet, not much call to wear it, but for those that know Lineage II, it's Grade A, Dark Crystal "Heavy" armor. :) <http://www.ivory-tower.de/> good site for checking out the nice outfits in the game.

The expensive, Armani suit that hugged his form would have been stated as being imported, were it not the Lord of Hell wearing it. Lucifer shrugged his shoulders, getting a feel for the shape of it, and frowned a little. It wasn’t something he liked, as he disliked human designs, for they had no true shape to them, but if he were to fit, it had to be this.

He’d sent Nagalsabael back to the hospital and though his heart remained heavy, he thought it didn’t hurt quite so much now. Was he finally beginning to accept their relationship or was he fooling himself even now? He had always assumed that his demon was straight, so he had never mentioned his feelings, but he didn’t think a former comrade, still an archangel, would steal him away.

Gritting his teeth, knocking the thoughts away, Lucifer elegantly stalked up the stairs to the grubby police station, seeming as if he were mercury at its smoothest. The noise hit him first, the moment he opened the door, as hookers, gang-bangers and drug dealers all shouted their indignation or hatred at the top of their lungs, followed closely by an officer steering them to their destined location, whether that was a desk, interview room, or cell.

He wasn’t sure how, truly, a mortal police station worked, but it seemed terribly busy to him. Perhaps they had just done a massive “sting”, as they so eloquently put it. Even with his clean and high-end appearance, he didn’t stand out in the cacophony. His designer shoes took him nearer to the counter as he tried to get his bearings and what direction would be where his prey lay.

“Hey! You got some business here?”

Lazily, his dark sapphire eyes looked at the desk cop, seeing all the thoughts going across his face, though he obviously made a considerable effort to seem ‘expressionless’. Was he from the district attorney’s office? Couldn’t be, he was too well-dressed. High-priced defense attorney then, but who did they have that would have that much money?

Lucifer smirked and clucked his tongue at the stupidity of mortals. A quick weave, a manipulation of a charm spell he still retained from his celestial days, and the man’s eyes slid off him and over his shoulder. It wasn’t precisely ‘invisibility’, as no mortal, celestial, or demon had ever managed to make that elusive magic bend to someone’s will, but it worked all the same. They would catch him out of the corner of their eye, but when they turned to look, he would seem as if he wasn’t there.

The place stank of both petty and great evils and he almost felt vaguely at home here. Sure, it was missing the oppressive heat, the sinister shadows, the screams of pain, and blood-coated demons, but the essence of maliciousness remained the same. It was almost depressingly easy to find the jail portion, it reeked of unhappiness and rage.

Not many cells were occupied, and though he didn’t know what this man looked like, he knew his prey the moment he saw him. He had a kind of…insignificant look to him, unremarkable in any way including his wrongdoings. Lucifer had, over time, developed a sixth sense that would accurately tell him any soul’s crimes, so that he could better place them in his own personal hell. After all, how could he run such an afterlife if he didn’t know? He wanted them to feel as much pain as they could have, whether they had something so trivial as a fear of spiders or sexual intimacy.

_Abusive boyfriend, someone who fantasizes about the rush it would feel to rape someone, but hasn’t done it yet out of paralyzing fear and weak morals kicking in. His actions were likely not premeditated, but acted out of unfocused and trifling rage, completely spontaneous._

“Well, well, aren’t you so… inconsequential.”

The man’s head jerked up and he allowed the spell to fade from this man’s eyes only. Questions, questions flashed over his face, hope of a fancy lawyer getting him off warring with skepticism. When he saw Lucifer’s sharp, malice-filled smile, the hope wore away to be replaced by rising fear.

Lucifer’s Armani suit wavered, fell away like so much water, to reveal the clothes he was far more comfortable in and that marked him as the Lord of Hell. The style resembled much some fantasy sixteenth century design, with knee-high black boots that buckled all the way up in the back. The coat he wore was vaguely reminiscent of Napoleon Bonaparte, having a high, stand-up neckline, black cloth edged in black fur. Violet gems and stitched designs covered the torso and back down the back of the coat and he shifted a little to reveal black, matching gloves on his hands. His pants were an even darker shade of black, edged again with violet. A cloak completed his look, falling down to his ankles and held together at the front of his neck with a clasp that was his only true remembrance of his past: an inverted, golden white cross.

“What…the hell are you?”

He gave a razor-sharp smile, practically tasting the fear laden in the air from the man as he backed away on the bed. His black wings shifted, causing a few strands of midnight, blue-black hair to touch the alabaster color of his cheeks and skin. “Oh, do go ahead and guess. It’s so much fun when you’re wrong.”

“Demon! _Devil!_ ”

“Close,” he encouraged in malicious enjoyment, flicking a finger at the lock of the jail and watching it melt and ooze to the ground. Glad of his gloves, for he dared not want to think about what might be on the metal, he opened the cell door and stepped in. “To be more precise, the _ruler_ of Hell. Do call me Lord Lucifer. We’ll get to know each other so well and it has such a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”

The man was, pitifully enough, so terrified that his throat closed. Any moment, he expected to smell the nasty scent of urine as he wet his pants. Disgust for how petty this man was and just how fearful he had become, Lucifer wrinkled his nose and put his hand in his coat pocket, grabbing something hard, awkward, and metallic.

“Normally, you would not warrant my attention, as you are merely minor in your crimes, barely making it into the first level of Hell, out of my precious seven. However, you made a very bad mistake. The person you shot happened to be the lover of one of my closest and most beloved of demons. Someone whom I consider…my right-hand man in every way; someone who is extremely powerful and just waiting to tear you apart. For…complicated reasons, he can’t be here, but asked me to take care of you in his place. So, I give you two options, neither of which matter to me.”

He stepped forward, looming over the fearful man, and pulling out what he had in his pocket. It was a tiny revolver and upon closer inspection, when he held it out to the man, was recognized as the one that had shot Shekinah. He’d had his imps steal it from evidence just for this purpose. “Now, you may either use this gun and kill yourself with it, or…” With his other hand, he twisted his wrist just so and his warped, black blade with jagged edges and blood-red, molten cracks, appeared in his hand. “I take care of it myself with as much blood and pain as possible. Don’t mistake,” he added in the pause, “that this is your suffering. No, you will be suffering dearly in the seventh level of Hell, in a special area I’ll create just for you, for all eternity. But I am being…vaguely merciful by allowing you to choose the manner of your death.

“So shall it be gun or sword?”

Even with the noise of the police station, the single shot pierced through it, seeming almost as loud as thunder.

_For you, my precious, precious Nagalsabael._

-0-0-0-0-0-

Orphée paced in the hospital room, the beeping of the machines driving him insane, but unable to leave. If he took one step out there, he’d be unable to control his urge to find the bastard and rip his throat out, torment him until there was nothing left in the man’s memory other than pain. And Yuuko had warned him when he returned, seeming satisfied about something she refused to tell him, that he had best not go anywhere in case the doctor’s found unavoidable “oddities” about his beloved’s body.

It would have been a simple matter, had Torin been shot where there were no mortals around. It could have been dealt with. But he couldn’t just take the man out of the hospital now, with doctor’s watching and their charts and their machines. They were going to find something, he knew it, and though he also recognized that was his fatalism talking, he couldn’t help fearing. They would have to take drastic measures if the doctor’s mentioned anything.

He would not allow Torin to become a lab rat.

His pacing grew more feverish at his thoughts, ranting in his mind about how much easier and faster in healing this would be if Torin could just be in his true, angelic form. It wasn’t surprising then, that very few nurses or doctor’s wished to enter the hospital room, as Orphée’s glares were blistering in distrust and he welcomed no visitors.

But he stayed by his boyfriend’s side.

By the same token, there were only two people he would allow into the room: Jesus, because he could hardly prevent the celestial no matter how he might try, and Lucifer. Not even Yuuko or her little morsel of an employee was allowed more than one or two steps in. It wasn’t a welcoming atmosphere; something about it was just on the side of murderous and even the most non-spiritual person could feel it. Jesus didn’t say anything to him, merely watched him when he visited and Orphée sneered at him silently, daring him to comment.

Orphée was as fierce in his protection of Torin as an enraged lion over his mate. He knew very well that the nurses often drew lots as to who would come in and who got to escape and in the darkness of his mind and heart, Orphée was glad of it. He reveled in the fear that he felt just outside the doorway, the intimidation he caused.

Part of him did recognize that he was slipping back into his demonic ways and yet, until Torin opened his eyes, it would only become worse, said his fatalistic attitude. He’d lived with the mortals for so long that sometimes he felt very distanced from what he truly was, how he had used to feed on so much pain and suffering like it was the very air he breathed. He had enjoyed it, reveled in the blood and fear that he caused.

It had faded, mostly, in the several thousands of years he’d lived among mortals until he was considered no more than an eccentric, loud and dirty-mouthed young man that wouldn’t _really_ hurt anyone, just liked to scare them. What those people would say now, if they knew his thoughts.

By the time Orphée had exhausted himself, night was well advanced and he’d worn a path in the linoleum flooring beneath his feet. He dragged a chair next to Torin’s bed, propped his feet up on the railing, and stared with unseeing eyes at the black, unmoving screen of the turned-off television set high up on the corner of the wall. Sleep? He didn’t need it, could go weeks without sleep, if need be, though it was hardly recommended, even for demons.

However, he couldn’t say he was ‘awake’ either. Sort of in limbo. His mind was worn out, set adrift into nothingness where he couldn’t feel, and his body left in a state of awareness only ruled by instinct. If he felt someone nearby, instinct would bring his attention back. If Torin moved, he would know about it.

In a rare, tender moment, he reached out to hold Torin’s hand tightly, fear invading him and causing him to give an uncharacteristic gulp. His beloved had been shot and it was his fault. He was always paying so much attention to the _real_ , true threats of the supernatural, of Heaven and Hell, that he never gave a thought to the mortals and their ineffectual weapons. They were so powerful, he had always thought, so how could something like that hurt them?

He knew now just how wrong he’d been in believing that.

Orphée drifted a bit aimlessly in his mind, no presence entering the room to disturb his thoughts for a good two hours. When someone did, he didn’t even need to move to know who it was. He blinked, bringing his attention back and stared up at Lucifer, realizing just how long it had been since he’d looked upon the “Lord of Hell”. His clothes set him apart, screamed at what he was, and Orphée recognized a spell cloaking his former superior so that he could come into the hospital as he was.

“Well?!” he demanded, voice a bit harsh because of its hoarseness, for all that he had rarely spoken in the last seven to eight hours. It felt like he’d been screaming a the top of his lungs for years.

“It’s done. He is being tormented as we speak.”

“The layer?”

“Seventh.” There was a moment of silence as his expression settled into both satisfaction and bitter disappointment. “For how long do you wish me to torment him personally?”

“For fucking ever!” he snapped, though he knew that his reply was unreasonable. Lucifer was the lord of hell, he couldn’t spend all his time tormenting one soul on his request. He knew this, but he couldn’t help saying it anyway.

A hand touched his head and that soft voice only he heard whispered in the air around his ears, “Are you going to cry?”

“ _Never!_ I’ve never cried and I don’t need to, because he’s going to be all right! I’m going to _make_ him be all right!”

“I will not lie to you, Naga. I cannot be in charge of this man’s pain alone for the rest of eternity. I run Hell, it’s my job. There are so many souls that require my attention, twice that flooding in every day. I will spend a few years on him, but then I will hand the reins of his punishment to Batuson. It will be his exclusive duty from now on.”

Though it hurt, though he wanted to rage at what he heard, he knew this was Lucifer’s only way of making it up to him. Batuson was, perhaps, the only demon older than he was, that had fought very little in the war. His body was battle-scarred, almost no skin left smooth and unblemished. He had been Lucifer’s main strategist, so he hadn’t had much physical part in the war. And no one, including Lucifer and Orphée himself, knew more about causing pain than he. An old demon, who didn’t move around an awful lot, who’s injuries pained him even then, but he never made any mention of it.

If there could be said to be any parental figure in Orphée’s life, it would have Batuson, though it had been a very long time since they had last set eyes upon each other.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but—”

Orphée looked away, at the unconscious figure in the bed next to him, unable to look at Lucifer for some reason. “It’s okay,” he interrupted, really feeling like crying for the first time in his life, but keeping the tears at bay. “Really. Batuson can make him suffer in ways no one has ever dreamed of. Just…make sure Batu knows how…important that guy is.”

“I will. That I promise.”

And as quietly as Lucifer had come in, he was gone and Orphée bit his lip so hard it bled so that he wouldn’t cry.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The first thing that Torin saw when he opened his eyes was white. Fearing for a moment that he was in Heaven and that all he’d thought was reality was just a dream, he shifted and felt pain lance through his chest area. Grunting, he blinked his golden eyes hard and caused the white to come into focus. A ceiling that wasn’t really white, but a very pale beige color that had seen much better days.

Someone was holding his hand and when he shifted his head to look, he smiled when he saw Orphée. He was asleep, or as asleep as someone with their eyes open could be. There was a glassiness to his gaze that said he wasn’t really seeing anything in front of him and it filled him with such warmth to see how much his lover cared that he had to resist scooping Orphée up and hugging him to bits.

Beeping of monitors next intruded into his attention and he realized he was in a hospital. Piece by piece, he recalled what happened to him, though his recollection was just a bit on the spotty side. Really, being shot hurt. A lot. It was entirely different from the sharp pain of a sword, almost twice the feeling of aching in his muscles.

“ _Piece of shit!_ ”

Torin blinked in surprise and turned his head again, only to find Orphée very awake and glaring at him with his ruby red eyes, filled with heat. “What?”

“I said, you’re a piece of shit! _How_ in all the seven hells, did you get fucking _shot_?! You’re a bloody war veteran, all those shiny medals, survived _hordes_ of incoming demons, and you get downed from a piddly, stupid, inelegant, piece of shit weapon like a gun?!”

Orphée’s voice was rising in pitch and volume and Torin kissed the back of the hand he held gently to warn him to keep it down. He didn’t want anyone else in this building knowing what it was they were. “I don’t know, Orphée. I just did.”

“Yeah, well…he’s been dealt with.” There was a flush on his beloved’s cheeks from having his hand kissed and Torin seriously searched his face for what those words might mean.

“You didn’t handle the punishment though,” he stated emphatically and Orphée glared at him again.

“And how would you know what I did and didn’t do, you bastard?! You, who had the temerity to get shot while I was standing right next to you!”

“You didn’t, because I know you,” Torin whispered, not being deterred by the change in subject that Orphée was going for. “I trust you.”

The moment of silence stretched and the demon next to him shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m not like you think I am, Shekinah. I’m not any different than any other demon. We are attracted and cause pain and suffering. I’m not a ‘nice’ demon. If Lucifer hadn’t stopped me, I would have shredded that man’s body into pieces and then tormented his soul for thousands of years to come. I wanted him to feel true terror, was going to thrive on it for ages. I’m just as dangerous and deadly as they come, perhaps more so.”

It was a rare moment indeed that they used their true names with each other, as that was a special privilege they each reveled in and used in only certain occasions, when it mattered. “I never thought you were a ‘nice’ demon, or that you were in any way less than your comrades. I knew from the start that though you may seem like you only bluster, you are capable of all the violence and terror that being a true demon born of darkness can entail.

“However, I believe in you to keep that in check. I believe you wouldn’t let that side of you loose with free reign. I know you aren’t just a puppy, barking at the slightest noise without claws to back it up, just as I hope you know that I am not just a gentle, good-natured angel that’s too soft for his own good. We both have sides of each other, of what we were, that are dangerous to each other. We are both capable of wishing for violence, even myself. Were anything to happen to you like it did me, I would want for it too. But we control that side, don’t let it take over, instinctively because of those around us and our love for each other. I trusted you to not dirty your hands for my sake and you didn’t. You kept it in check, even if Lucifer had to remind you. It wasn’t that Lucifer stopped you, Naga, but that he gave you enough time to control it. If you truly did want to let it free, not even he would be able to stop you.”

“Probably right about that,” Orphée muttered, their eyes not meeting so Torin tugged him closer, enough so that he could kiss those sweet lips that had haunted his pain-touched dreams. “OI! Don’t do that _here_!”

“You are so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Even wounded, you still piss me off!”

**End**  



End file.
